


Deck the Bookshop with Decorations

by Elphen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Can't think of more tags, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Canon, Sweet, Sweet Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sweet Crowley (Good Omens), aziraphale investigates, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: Not one to decorate the bookshop for Christmas, Aziraphale nevertheless finds ornaments, baubles and other decorations hidden among the medley of items, not clutter, of the shop. What's more, he discovers that more is added over the course of December.There can only be one culprit, but why? Of all the things toAziraphale is going to find out, one way or the other. Even if it means he has to actually ask outright.Set post-canon.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 86





	Deck the Bookshop with Decorations

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas (or Happy Holidays, whatever you celebrate)  
> I wasn't planning on writing a Christmas story this year but then I got this idea and...well, you can see for yourself. It's just a sweet little thing but then again, that's allowed this time of year.  
> Silly title is silly but the working title was "Christmas Decorations" so...  
> There is no beta and I haven't had much time to go through it, either, so apologies for any mistakes or things that don't make sense.

It wasn’t something that he would’ve thought to look for and to be perfectly honest, in the abundance of items – it wasn’t clutter because that word implied that it wasn’t something you desired to have, nor necessarily the items in said clutter, neither of which applied for the bookshop – it took him quite a while to notice.

Or at least, he presumed that it took him a while to notice.

He certainly hadn’t left Crowley alone for long enough that he could put all of it up without Aziraphale noticing at least something.

Then again, he was talking about a demon, and one with the ability to stop time. That said skill hadn’t affected Aziraphale when he’d done it didn’t entail that it couldn’t – or that it hadn’t, come to that. How was Aziraphale to know? It wasn’t as though anyone else had given any indication that they knew that was what had happened once time started up again, after all.

Good grief, what he might have managed to do while he’d suspended –

That…wasn’t a thought to be thought, really, not without falling down a particularly unpleasant rabbit hole and Aziraphale mentally backed away from that so fast he left metaphorical skid marks.

Leaving that whole mess aside, though, it did seem more likely that he had in fact sneaked it in little by little, piece by piece. Probably he’d made a point of doing it like that, just because he could – and because he could grow a little bit bored sometimes now that neither of them had any assignments.

Free time is all very well, and Aziraphale knew that neither of them wanted to go back to how it’d been before, but even the best holiday loses a bit of its lustre when you realise it’s the permanent solution rather than a finite break away from normalcy. Mundanity sets in.

Mostly they’d found ways around it and to be perfectly honest, it seemed like a lot of what Crowley did hadn’t changed from before. He even admitted as much, though he claimed that it was done for his own sake and not anything to do with Hell.

Aziraphale believed him on that and to be fair, he did also help the angel out with various things, to an extent that he wouldn’t have previously. Or perhaps more precisely, that neither of them had dared just in case someone somewhere would sense that something was off. Which was probably putting it very mildly, all things considered.

This, though…

This was not what he would have ever expected of Anthony J. Crowley, a demon who changed his name not once but twice. Three times if you thought about what his name pre-fall might’ve been which Aziraphale studiously did not, as it was none of his business and wouldn’t change a thing about how he felt about his dearest demon.

The point, however, was that for someone like Crowley, who cared about how he presented himself, at least in terms of appearance, to even think about doing this, to be seen carrying these kinds of, well, baubles, really, out in public, seemed unlikely.

Some of them were small, admittedly, but with those non-existent pockets he had on both his jacket and his trousers, there wasn’t anywhere to hide them, and you wouldn’t catch Crowley dead with a bag or similar.

Of course, there was the possibility that he had a pocket that served as a sort of, what he believed someone had once described to him as a TARDIS – they’d shown him a picture of a police box, of all things, which made no sense – which was apparently bigger on the inside.

That possibility seemed remote, though – and if it did exist, then he would have to ask, as nicely as possible, whether Crowley mightn’t employ that on his bookshop.

But that brought him back to the point; that Crowley, and it could only really be him, had put up not one but several ornaments, baubles and decorations all over the bookshop, from the tiniest little snowflake in wrought silver to quite the conspicuous…was that a tomte? Nisse? Something along those lines, at least, and it wasn’t the only one, either.

In fact, once he began actively to hunt for them, Aziraphale found scores of them and that wasn’t even hyperbole. They seemed to be absolutely everywhere, all of them hidden yet visible and in quite some ingenious places, too, even if he wasn’t certain he wanted to admit that to Crowley.

For instance, one hung from the top of an eight feet tall Canterbury revolving bookcase while another was wrapped around the leg of one round table he had. A third one he found hidden underneath a hat and scarf on the hat stand that he couldn’t remember the missing owner of, though a half-formed image of a white-bearded, small man in black swam past in his mind like a brown fish in a muddy pond.

He ought to look into that and bring it back to its owner, really.

The immediate issue, however, was not merely that Crowley had apparently taken it into his head to go around and pick up things to then scatter around the bookshop, for a very odd hunt for Aziraphale to go on – one he didn’t even tell him he’d begun or that he was supposed to do but why else put them up? – but that he had chosen _Christmas_ decorations, of all things.

It made no sense at all.

To have him put anything – the fact that it was in the bookshop was not a mystery as it was where they spent most of their time now, at least the time together, which amounted to the same thing – remotely Christmas related up was…did it even have any equivalent?

Aziraphale certainly couldn’t think of one.

There was another one. Placed carefully, too, across the collection of “Just William” books that Adam had gifted him with when he’d rebuilt the bookshop for him, was a red-and-white paper garland.

He picked it up before he quite knew what he was doing, letting it run between his fingers but carefully, so that none of the links would be damaged.

Was it some sort of prank? Mockery – no, not mockery. He knew Crowley wouldn’t do that. Not to Aziraphale, at least, not like that. If he had any such inclinations, surely, he would’ve done so already, wouldn’t he?

Then again, that applied to whatever this was, too, didn’t it? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been in the bookshop before. He’d even been there on a relatively regular basis, though not anything like what was the case now, of course.

But did that – that didn’t mean he’d actually been doing this for years and he’d just gotten more blatant about it now, did it? Surely, the angel hadn’t been that blind to it. Had he?

No, he did…he did move the books around occasionally, just for a change of scenery or whatever was in vogue for him at the time. And, of course, whenever he couldn’t manage to keep customers out, which was rare, they would have the temerity to remove books from their shelves and not put them back right.

So, he would have noticed if there had suddenly been a nutcracker, a silk bauble or a miniature straw goat in amongst the shelves as he’d tidied up, moved around and set things right. They hadn’t been there.

That meant this, whatever ‘this’ was, had been something that he’d cooked up this year in particular. The first one after the end of the world became a bit more world without end, as it were…at least for the time being, as long as Heaven and Hell wasn’t going to…but best not to think about that, either, really.

They would deal with that when and as it came. Planning for things didn’t seem to be their forte, after all.

It was the first year, the first Christmas after they’d left their respective sides for their own and had allowed themselves – though even Aziraphale could admit, freely if self-consciously, that it had been mainly him who’d done the allowing, as Crowley hadn’t had the same sort of hiccups that he had, not even close – to be as close to each other as they wanted.

So…if this wasn’t some kind of elaborate prank, and possibly even if it was, there would be a reason for it. Well, obviously there was, but one that stretched a bit deeper. Something that the demon wanted to communicate to the angel, a message that he tried to get across, through a gesture rather than words.

He could, of course, just ask Crowley.

It would seem the obvious solution but there was the factor that if he took it the wrong way, or any way at all if it wasn’t intentional, then Crowley was as likely to clam up about the whole thing as he was to explain, depending on how vulnerable he felt. He’d gotten better about it, much better, in fact, but that didn’t translate into him never clamming up.

If Aziraphale was very unlucky, he might actually walk out of the shop and he wouldn’t see him for a few weeks, at the very least, and wouldn’t answer the angel’s calls, either.

That had never been palatable. It wasn’t that they didn’t see each other, because they were used to that, but that he was deliberately being ignored which hurt – and he tried hard not to think about their fight in Victorian times and Crowley’s unresponsiveness when he’d tried to reach out.

The fact that he later discovered it had been because the ginger had gone home to sleep…that didn’t help as much as he thought it would have.

He’d have to figure it out, though, somehow, and do it relatively soon, as it wasn’t long until Christmas, where after it seemed more than likely that he would miracle it all away in one go, if Aziraphale didn’t get it in time and then there would be no evidence that it had ever been there.

Which was more heart-breaking a thought than he could rightly explain.

Besides, if his dearest had decided to do something for him, or something that had some sort of meaning, then the least he could do was try to understand it. Try to work with him, as it were. And honestly, it was rather sweet, even if some of the items were…well…

Over the next few days, he stewed over the problem – while also trying to catch the other in the act of smuggling something in, as he did indeed, now that he was looking for them, find more and more little things scattered all over the entire shop.

Not that he’d confront him about it then and there because catching him off-guard like that rarely if ever yielded good results.

If he _was_ going to confront him about it, ask him what he was doing and why, and it increasingly seemed like he was, since the other ways he’d come up with to solve it ran far too close to the risk of Crowley clamming up in defence, then he was going to do it in an atmosphere that was…good. Gentle and understanding.

Perhaps a bottle of wine between them, or two, really, just some time to relax, then…bring it up. Not casually, that had too much potential to come off wrong, but quietly, perhaps. Make it a compliment first because eclectic though it was, he found that the demon did have quite the knack for knowing where to put each and every ornament he brought.

Not just in terms of them not being immediately visible, either, though that was a definite factor, too, but in what fitted with the feel of the shop and the rest of the decorations. Something which he wouldn’t have expected, if he was being entirely honest, but sent him into rather a cheery mood, even towards would-be, all they would ever be, customers.

But yes, that could…that could work. Hopefully. It was the best solution he could come up with, or at least the one that offered the least opportunities for Crowley to back out, clam up or for Aziraphale himself to make a mess of things, something which seemed equally likely, he was a little ashamed to admit.

He debated with himself whether he ought to invite Crowley over, sort of more officially, as it were. In the end, though, he decided against it; it might not only tip his hand early and put the demon on guard, at the very least, which wasn’t what he wanted at all, it ran the risk of Aziraphale overthinking it all.

Well, more than he already did. Just because you’re aware you’re doing something doesn’t necessarily entail you can stop it.

So, instead, perhaps it was better to get ready for it but let the moment be decided more in the circumstances. Something like that, so long as he managed it before Christmas.

As he set about arranging things for a pleasant evening, well _even more_ pleasant, such as stocking up on good wine from various excellent wine merchants throughout the city, finding an entire larder’s worth of little gourmet items, too good for a Fortnum & Mason hamper and other such little things, he did actually, quite unintendedly, see one ornament get smuggled in.

How he hadn’t spotted all the others, he had no idea. Not if this was how it had been carried in the other times. Though most likely, it was not, and he was just catching the moment Crowley brought it out from wherever he had in fact hidden it.

It was an ornament, of metal, judging by glint – the angel was hidden behind a bookshelf and looked out through a small gap so he couldn’t see all that much – but it wasn’t just that. It was a star, meant to hang from the ceiling and remind people of that one particular star.

Something overtly…pertinent, to Jesus, that…that was a bit more than the rest of it, wasn’t it? Good grief, the goat had its origin in Norse mythology, but there’d been no angels, no nativity scenes, nothing of the sort. Which had made sense to the real-life angel, all things considered, so why would he…?

And as though that wasn’t enough, Crowley, after having a quick look around which made Aziraphale pull back a little so as not to be spotted, seemed to find somewhere good and…not all that hidden. Hanging it, through a quick snap of his fingers, from one of the pillars that held up the gallery was hardly inconspicuous, was it?

On the other hand, would Aziraphale have noticed it if he hadn’t been made aware of the practice? Come to that, would he have spotted it, up there where there was no reason to look, if he hadn’t seen the ginger place it? He rather suspected not.

Curious and more curious.

…Just because he appreciated books, fiction and non-fiction, immensely did not entail that he had to share the poor grammar of a girl of seven.

He had to admit, though, that the star looked quite beautiful, glinting down at them as Crowley turned and called for Aziraphale, who waited a moment or two, perhaps three, to step out from where he’d been all along, trying to give the impression that he had been further away than he had been.

If Crowley noticed anything, he didn’t say. Instead, the moment he spotted him, he proclaimed that he was there to take Aziraphale to lunch, so would he hurry up already? Well, that and he gave him a grin that could charm the Pope to a dance of the seven veils.

It certainly worked its magic on Aziraphale…though he had to say, his clothes stayed on.

* * *

He didn’t notice it until it was all over and done with, but the day he ended up asking the question was, in fact, Christmas Eve. Or rather, the day of Christmas Eve.

To be honest, though, he should’ve clocked it before, and rather early on, too. Not so much for the general mass of people on the move that occurred outside his windows, partly because they didn’t change much in numbers regardless of the season and partly because he never took notice of such things.

But the fact that Crowley showed up rather early in the day, when they hadn’t made any actual plans – though they would categorise themselves as a couple now, insofar as they felt human labels needed to apply to them, they did not, in fact, spend all their time together, not just yet – and in a good mood too, rather than the sliding scale of grumpiness he often exhibited during the colder months should’ve been a clue.

Pointing out that if he was cold, he could always just miracle a coat into existence to fit with the rest of the outfit, whatever that might be at the given moment, just earned Aziraphale a raise of eyebrows, possible a slight snort, but no actual explanation or excuse.

That said, there was something incredible endearing about the way the aquiline nose reddened when it was cold and Aziraphale had always secretly relished a chance to see it happen. Perhaps, one day, he would be brave enough to press his own nose to it or even, just possibly, press a kiss to it instead.

Another clue should be the fact that the demon didn’t show up emptyhanded and that what he’d brought was something fit for the occasion, in the sense that it was mulled wine of a German bent, if Aziraphale was any judge, a whole heap of mince pies and a panettone.

It wasn’t a store-bought panettone, either, but one from that little Italian bakery over in…but that couldn’t be right. Aziraphale had been round there two days before, to get hold of just that particular cake, as they really were the best in the whole of England.

They’d been sold out.

The owner had apologised profusely and while Aziraphale had been understanding, that still didn’t bring him a panettone, did it?

Somehow, Crowley had managed to get hold of one, though, and it was probably best not to ask how, lest he wanted to spend time admonishing the other for whatever it turned out to be.

What he did want to ask was why, because it did seem…well, not suspicious but perhaps too coincidental to be true?

There was certainly something in the way Crowley also didn’t just slink over to the nearest piece of furniture meant for sitting in that he then proceeded to treat as some sort of table with himself as the tablecloth, but actually helped to unpack and set up, and not with a miracle, either.

But perhaps he was just in a good mood today. There needn’t to be anything else to it. Even so, Aziraphale would like to know. Not knowing led the way to uncertainty and speculation, at least for the blond.

Each in its own time, though. Perhaps he could ask when he asked about the rest or maybe the time would come later or even sooner. He didn’t know.

For now, he would enjoy this day they’d clearly both intended to spend together, judging by not just the amount of food Crowley had brought but what kinds.

“You’re spoiling me, my dear,” he said, gushing slightly as he opened more boxes, with quite a few different languages spread between them, than what he’d initially thought the other had been carrying.

He really would have to check that jacket for interdimensional pockets. The trousers were a no-go; when he couldn’t even get his hands in, fitting a pocket dimension, aha, in there seemed unlikely.

“Oh, goodness, what are these? Truffles? They look delicious.”

“Caramel balls covered in chocolate, found them in one of those little shops that sell high-end foreign stuff,” Crowley said, shrugging as though it was nothing. “These here are called marzipan potatoes, they’re German. They’re pretty good.”

When he saw Aziraphale’s expression, he said, “Hey, I eat. I enjoy food. I just don’t take every opportunity I can to enjoy it.” He softened his voice and smiled, even if it only lasted for a moment. “Each to their own, though.”

The rest of his expression said a lot, though, and Aziraphale smiled in turn, understanding.

He picked up the Glühwein and poured it out in two glasses, the liquid just the right temperature when it hit the glasses in question, a warmth it’d retain until they’d finished drinking. Once full, he handed one glass to Crowley, who took it and sipped from it immediately.

Aziraphale joined him and had to admit that though it was hardly any great wine in itself, but the addition of spices and such, similar but different from the English mulled wine, made it quite nice, on its own merit. Well, it was festive and appropriate, at least.

“No changing it,” Crowley said, looking at him over the rim of his own glass, his eyebrows suggesting a challenge and a smirk.

“I wouldn’t dream – “

“You would, and you have before. The point of it is not to upgrade it to your liking but to enjoy what’s there. Disregarding their heritage or something.” He took another sip.

“Oh, yes, because you’re terribly concerned about the heritage of – “

“I made sure humanity as a whole still had one, didn’t I?” Crowley interrupted, but without much bite.

Aziraphale smiled, apologetic, moving closer to the other. Not touching him but it was a close enough thing.

“It’s lovely, dear, thank you,” he said, his eyes and smile warm. “Now, I’ve found a few treats of my own that I haven’t had a chance to try out yet, perhaps you’d be kind enough to help me sort through them to find what’s worth keeping.”

Crowley opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Aziraphale took the opportunity to put one of the things he’d found and had laid out, into it. Thankfully, the ginger didn’t spit it out.

“You’re going to fatten me up,” he accused when his mouth was empty.

Aziraphale wasn’t going to fall for it. “You haven’t changed one bit in six millennia, you’re hardly going to start now.”

“And you don’t think that’s taken an awful lot of work?”

“No, I do not. In fact, I know for certain that it hasn’t because I am in the same position, despite my ‘gluttonous ways’.” He looked down at the assembly of edible luxuries spread out on the round table and sighed. “Oh, bother. I should’ve moved the table to the back before I put the things on it.”

Crowley gave him a _look_ at that, snapped his fingers and then let himself fall backwards onto the sofa. Which was right behind him.

It had been moved into the bookshop itself rather than the other way around, which made sense.

Aziraphale blinked then shook his head and went to join him, though he chose to sit rather than sprawl, pulling the table the last foot over to them.

“Show-off,” he said, fondly.

“For you, angel? Always.”

The grin at that as well as the words did funny things to Aziraphale’s insides. Though honestly, to say that was like saying the sun rose each morning. True but also so everyday that mentioning hardly seemed worth the effort and yet so essential that to live without seemed impossible.

He settled into the sofa, glass still in hand, and listened to Crowley start in on a tall tale of something or other, enjoying their relatively newfound closeness, both physical and metaphorical.

In the pleasantness of it all, he almost forgot what he’d meant to ask. He’d certainly forgot to check for where Crowley might have stashed another ornament or bauble or whatever it was that he’d found to put up that day.

* * *

By the time he remembered that he meant to ask about it all, that that was at least part of the reason he’d gathered all of this in the first place, he was well on his way to being decidedly drunk.

They’d finished the glühwein, the whole bottle, without any attempts at tampering, and had then moved onto some of the wines Aziraphale had gathered.

He’d also managed to get Crowley to eat at least his fair share, and perhaps a bit more than that, of what they’d consumed so far of the goodies they’d brought. Though the demon couldn’t really gain weight, he hadn’t yet dealt with the amounts consumed and so his belly strained against the confines of his shirt, something which was rather adorable to look at. Not that he’d appreciate being told that, of course.

The angel himself was sitting a bit more sprawled himself now, hands folded over his stomach, looking up at the room around him.

It really was quite the feature, he had to admit. Livened the place up in, in a way, put it in the festive spirit, and was quite elegantly done, all things considered, though that should hardly be surprising, given the look of Crowley’s flat.

Not that he’d have done it himself; it was things to move whenever he wanted to read something, things that could fall and possibly break which would then have to be cleaned up.

Of course, it might be argued that he did have the snuffboxes and other such items, but they weren’t put in front of the books like impromptu guardians, now were they?

He smiled, softly.

“It’s very pretty,” he said, the sentence coming across as very much a non-sequitur to anyone outside his head. Which was everyone. Thankfully. Except…well…

But seeing as he was tipsy – not drunk, decidedly not drunk, he knew the difference perfectly well, thank-you-ever-so-many – it didn’t come as much of a surprise, to neither him nor the equally inebriated Crowley. He seemed as inebriated, anyway.

“Is it?” the ginger asked, not moving a muscle from where he was draped across the piece of furniture, gazing, or more accurately staring, upwards.

“It is,” he insisted, lifting his head, with only a bit of difficulty, to focus on the other, who wasn’t looking back at him. In the circumstances, that might be just as well. “Not what I would have thought about, but I’m glad to have it.”

“That’s good. I mean, really good. I’m glad to hear it, I mean, obviously. That’s…hang on.” Crowley’s head lolled to the side to face Aziraphale. He’d lost his…no, he’d actively taken his sunglasses off shortly after sitting down and yellow eyes tried hard to focus. “What are we talking about?”

Aziraphale blinked a few times, then frowned.

What _were_ they talking about?

…Oh. Yes.

Oh.

“The…the decorations,” Aziraphale said and wished, suddenly, that he was either not inebriated at all or positively sloshed. Either could be arranged, but he had a suspicion that that wouldn’t actually solve the problem. A problem that he had to solve, that he had actively arranged all of this to ask about.

So, he ploughed on, despite his sudden nerves. He turned his gaze away from the other, though, just to be able to do it.

“You’ve done quite the beautiful job of it,” he continued, figuring, hoping, that to continue with the, honest, compliments would be the right way to go about it, “and I’m sorry that it took me so long to notice.”

He expected Crowley to stiffen and thought he felt his demon do just that, despite the distance between them. For a moment, he thought about stopping, about backing out of it before he dug himself into a very unfortunate hole.

But there had to be a reason for it, whether deep or shallow, one that surely, Crowley couldn’t expect Aziraphale to think about – once he discovered it but best not to get into all of that right then – and well…wasn’t it better to get out there and talk about it?

Not necessarily but he shouldn’t dwell on things like.

He reached out and took one of them, a small snow globe, from where it had been hidden between two stacks of books on another table and shook it.

“I just don’t quite…I admit, I don’t quite understand why you decided to hide them like this, though,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on the falling ‘snow’. “Why go to all the trouble of finding such pretty and unique little things, and they really are, and then hide them away? Come to that, I have not figured out why you’ve decided to decorate in the first place.”

If he was going to ask, he might as well ask it all in one go. Have it over with in one fell swoop, as it were.

There was silence from the other end of the sofa, something which didn’t exactly help his nervousness.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He swallowed as he watched the last flakes fall.

“I mean, it’s not as though it’s something I’ve ever known you to do before, either, though of course you might have in your own flat, I have not seen that. I suppose I’ve just made an assumption, which I know isn’t…but I just can’t figure out why you…and to say that it’s because you’re a demon is true, of course, for a given value of true, but even so, it’s not fair of me to – “

He hadn’t realised he’d begun rambling just a little when a hand reached out and grabbed his knee, then squeezed it gently.

The gesture was small, but it was enough to stop him speaking. Not only that, he looked over at the other.

“That’s what you’re worried about? That’s why you’ve been stealing nervous glances at me all day?” Crowley asked and he sounded neither offended or hurt or anything else that signalled his walls were about to slam up in self-defence. Which was good, obviously, but…

“Well, yes, I – “

“It’s not that difficult to work out.”

Blue eyes flickered down and away. “It is to me, my dear.”

“That’s because you overthink things all the time.”

That made him look back up, a small smile on his lips. “Hullo pot.”

“Touché,” Crowley said, and he was smiling, too.

He was also still touching Aziraphale’s knee and for a couple who had yet to progress to much touching, it felt significant.

“You’re right, though; a demon isn’t supposed to decorate or celebrate. Not even when it’s commercial or secular or even Pagan, which is…but anyway, it’s not like they’re going to check now, is it? I figured that with ‘our side’, I could do it if I wanted to. Which I do. It looks nice.”

He looked out across the room at that and the pleasure in it was plain to see, as was the pride. Aziraphale’s heart swelled further to see his dearest’s happiness.

There were still a few questions that he wanted answers to, though.

“But why do it here and not at your own flat – “

“Who says I haven’t?”

Aziraphale inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Still, that leaves the question of why you kept it hidden from me, and kept _them_ hidden, too.”

“I didn’t keep them that hidden.”

“Hidden enough and you didn’t tell me. Not that you need to get my approval, that’s not what I mean. I just…I supposed I’ve worried you were afraid of what I’d say.”

That made Crowley sit bolt upright and turn fully towards the blond. He let go of the knee but immediately grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, pulling it away from the snow globe he still held.

The angel immediately grabbed in turn, squeezing a little.

“No, of course not. I put the first one up and thought you’d spot it immediately. When you didn’t, I…well, I wanted to see how long it took before you did and well, it was…it was fun to hide them.”

Crowley smirked just a little. “You ought to move your things more often, angel.”

“I move them often enough.” To be honest, though, the indignation was a very minor ingredient in the stew of his emotions, dwarfed by the sheer joy and cosiness that surrounded the moment.

Especially seeing as they’d both moved themselves, unintentionally, he was sure, close enough that they were touching, sides pressed lightly against each other.

“Only one more question,” he asked after a little while had passed. “Why Christmas themed decorations? You could’ve picked anything to put up and yet, you picked that which is in season.” He took a breath and got to the crux of that question. “Seeing as it’s holy, I wouldn’t have thought it had your interest, regardless of sides.”

Crowley shrugged but there was warmth in his golden eyes, though also more than a hint of sadness.

“Celebrating the birth of a bright young man who made the mistake of saying people ought to be kind to each other? Don’t see anything wrong with that. Especially not with all the ways humans have added onto it since.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help his smile at that and he squeezed the hand in his, hard. “Next year, though, perhaps you’d allow me to help you put them up?”

The demon blinked, his eyes widening. Then he nodded, several times in rapid succession.

Aziraphale brought the hand he was holding up to his chest, his smile a rival to a small sun. “Then that’s settled.”

“I actually do have one more thing I wanted to put up,” Crowley said, rather quietly, after a while had passed in comfortable, warm, golden silence. “Been saving it, actually, for…but I wasn’t sure whether you’d want it or not, so I didn’t.”

“Did that bother you with the rest of them?” Aziraphale asked. He felt justified in the question but at the same time, he felt a little guilty.

The demon shook his head, seemingly not bothered, at least by the question. “No, but that’s…this is a bit more…” Crowley made a face, fidgeted and coloured ever so slightly all at once, which was more adorable than it had any right to be.

“What is it, dear?”

“Nghk,” was all that Crowley managed to say, his mouth forming noises that might’ve had words in their ancestry in the same way that every European is related to Charlemagne.

Aziraphale took the hand that he wasn’t already holding.

“You can tell me.”

“Yeah, of course I can. I know that, it’s just…”

The angel chose not to prod further, instead waiting for the other to be ready to say it.

Which took a little but eventually, he managed to say it.

Or rather, show it.

He snapped his fingers but there wasn’t immediately anything to show for it.

Then he pointed upwards, to –

Oh.

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah…”

Well, then, no better time for trying out new traditions than Christmas, was there? And the rest of their lives, too, come to it.

And perhaps, just this one, doing it rather than saying it would be quite the good option.

So, gathering his courage, he leaned forward to close the gap between them, kissing Crowley softly on the lips, pouring his heart into it.

Crowley returned it immediately, one hand disentangling itself to instead cup Aziraphale’s jaw.

When they parted, they stared at each other, their eyes shiny but not from alcohol.

Then they went in for another kiss, longer and somehow even sweeter while evening fell outside the window.

When they eventually separated for longer than a moment or two, it was more appropriate to call it morning than evening or even night.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is very low stakes, if any at all, but I wanted to make something feel-good for this year, after a long and hard December for me. So, this is for me, though of course I hope you like it, too.
> 
> Feedback is as always loved and treasured, if the criticism is constructive.


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